Talkies of old Pondichcherry

by P. Raja

These are days when theatres in Pondicherry are downing shutters once and for all, with other plans in mind. Marriage halls are more lucrative than theatres. Restaurants are more lucrative than marriage halls. And the government is magnanimous enough to provide funds in order to attract more tourists. All of this will bear fruit as and when COVID leaves of course. But there was a time when theatres were the only source of entertainment for common people in Pondicherry. Theatres sported a festive look almost everyday – a sharp contrast to the present situation.

Tum.. tum… tum… tapara… tapara… tum… tadan… tum… tadan… tadan… tum.

The melodious beating of the one-sided drums even now haunts my ears, as I sit down to write about the ‘Talkies’ of old Pondicherry. Down memory lane, I see myself as a seven-year-old running after a cart drawn by two sturdy bullocks moving at slow pace. On either side of the body of the cart just above the wheels are tied banners displaying the charming faces of matinee idols like Kittappa, P.U.Chinnapppa or N.S.Krishnan and later Sivaji Ganesan or M.G. Ramachandran. In those days heroines of the filmdom were given less importance and the film directors were not even taken note of. Only the heroes enjoyed star status.

Inside the bullock cart sat a driver with the reins in one hand and a whip in the other. He managed both the animals for the smooth sailing of the vehicle, while a couple of drumbeaters attracted the attention of the village folk. Leaflets made of saani thaal (newsprint) carrying the information about the new movie – story in a nutshell, the names of the actors and actresses and the roles they played in the movie – were flung in the air and village urchins including me who ran after the bullock cart vied with one other to collect the landing leaflets. Words can never describe the joy on our faces. The elders who considered the act of running after the cart below their dignity shamelessly begged us to spare a leaflet. And we too without any fuss parted with one from our treasure trove. The handbills also carried in bold letters the name of the ‘Talkies’ that ran the show. The timings for each show were prominently printed.

Almost everyday more such bullock carts appeared in our village and informed the public of the new arrivals in the ‘Talkies’. As far as my memory goes (and my memory is still perfect) there were only four ‘Talkies’ in Pondicherry – Kandan, Ratna, Newtone and Raja. They were known as ‘Talkies’ for they were not showing silent movies.

My mother related to me that in earlier times a few families, mostly relatives and friends, joined together, hired a bullock cart big enough to accommodate thirty or so people and moved out to the city to watch movies. They carried copper buckets stuffed with variety rice – lemon, curd and tamarind, koojas filled with potable water and banana leaves cut to size rolled and bundled. By sunrise they reached the promenade of Pondicherry, walked happily on the beach sands stretching for about a mile or so till the waves jubilantly rushed to give them a grand gala welcome by hugging their feet. The folks had the darshan of the great crimson ball emerging from the ‘biggest lake’. They had their breakfast in the park, whiled away their time in tête-à-tête before their midday meal and then got ready for their greatest entertainment – matinee show (3 o’clock) in one talkies, evening show (6 o’clock) in another talkies and then (O God! They had such powerful eyes that didn’t get tired easily) the night show (10 o’clock) in yet another talkies.

In those days people wanted lengthy movies and showmen gave them lengthier ones. And talkies had a lot of songs in them. Those songs not only entertained them but also drove home the message that lasted in their minds for years. No movie was shown for less than three and a half hours and the people left for their homes in the early hours discussing the characters in the movies they had seen and singing the few lines they picked, laughing away to their heart’s content.

Today thinking of those talkies makes me remember Wordsworth’s lines from “Ode on Intimations of Immortality”:
“Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?”.

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